


larry stylinson sickfics

by sweetuhcreature



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Hurt Harry Styles, Hurt/Comfort, Larry Stylinson Is Real, Liam Payne & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, M/M, Mentioned One Direction, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), One Direction Imagines, One Direction One Shot, Sickfic, Soulmates Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27003529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetuhcreature/pseuds/sweetuhcreature
Summary: title says it all
Relationships: Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	1. arms unfolding, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> H and L aren't on the best of terms. They haven't been for a while; but, Harry gets sick on tour and longs for old comforts.
> 
> "Running away just made sense" / "I think I'd like to try to look at you, and feel the way I did before"

Harry enters the common area of the One Direction tour bus with long, sluggish strides. It's just Niall and Louis at the small breakfast table this morning. Liam is probably packing his things for their next hotel stay, or still asleep. Harry suspects the former though.

"Morning, Haz," Niall grins through a mouthful of milk and cereal. Harry returns a similar expression, amused.

Louis is sat opposite the cheerful blonde, cheek pressed up against his hand. He's glancing down past his unbrushed fringe at the table, where his phone lay flat, open to the Twitter app.

He's getting over the worst of a rather awful cold, Harry concludes (by the relentless coughing that's been keeping Harry up at night, and the congestion beneath his words and half-sung solos these past three days, not that Louis confides those types of things in Harry anymore). He looks better than yesterday, though.

"G'morning," Harry rasps, meant for Louis but aimed safely at Niall, before sliding into the seat farthest from him.

Harry's feeling a little off this morning, himself. It's not rare for Harry to catch illness from the other boys; as a matter of fact, it happens almost every time. It's something they've all grown to expect, and he certainly has no plans to make a big deal about it.

"Harry?" Niall calls for the second time.

"Huh?"

"I _said_ 'Aren't you hungry?'"

Harry blinks. He notices Louis isn't eating. Maybe he already ate before Harry woke up, but he doesn't think so. "Uh, sure."

Niall gives him an odd look.

With hot cheeks, Harry pushes himself back from the table with a sigh. He definitely missed something. Now he's being weird.

"Actually, 'm gonna go back to sleep for a bit. Wake me when we're in... uh--"

"Cape Town," Louis mumbles, still not looking up from his phone.

Harry nods distractedly. He lingers for a moment, silently urging Louis to make eye contact. He doesn't though. He probably doesn't even notice a difference when Harry finally sulks off and grabs a banana from a bowl in the kitchen, taking it back to his bunk with no intention of eating it.

* * *

Harry actually wakes up on his own, no more than two hours later, to laughter. Loud, like music. It's Louis, obviously, and Harry smiles, allowing himself to melt into it. The smile fades, though, as sleep wears off and Harry realizes how far away the sound is.

Harry's alone in his bunk and Louis is giggling in the living area, probably at something Liam said or a dumb face Niall made. A joke Harry will never know.

He tries hard not to dwell on it (a task that has yet to get easier, even after all this time).

Harry urges himself to let it go, and as the vivid memory of the blue eyed boy laughing at _his_ jokes begins to vanish, he starts to realize how truly awful he feels. Not just sad, but terribly ill. Much, much worse than this morning.

He'll be fine though.

 _"You're always sick, love,"_ Louis would say, if things were different. He'd say it so soft, but he'd be mad too, pleading with the universe to give Harry a break and getting into fruitless arguments with management on his behalf.

 _"You'll be okay,"_ he'd say, later, once he'd given up on getting Harry out of whatever obligations they had that day. It was always true, Harry supposes, though it's hard to believe when Louis isn't here.

Harry physically shakes his head, gladly accepting the dizziness as it overpowers the unyielding thoughts of his ex-boyfriend.

He'll be fine.

* * *

Harry's arrogance washes away with a rather violent wave of nausea. He braces himself against the sink, panting heavily at his reflection. His hair is hardly curly with how damp it is, sticking to his forehead and neck in unflattering patterns. Pushing it back only results in a clearer view of Harry's patchy flushed skin and sunken eyes, and he emits a frustrated puff of air, feeling gross and insecure.

He knows, realistically, that he's going to need some help if he intends to pull himself together before tonight's show -- which, of course, he does. All they've got to do today is perform and Harry considers himself lucky for that. If he had to sit through an interview or photo shoot right now, it'd be a recipe for disaster. Tonight still might be, but his odds are slightly better with extra time.

The boys' names roll around in his head like alphabet soup for a bit before he settles on the obvious choice: Liam. He's the most responsible, and the least likely to get annoyed with him. Plus, he's managed to keep a sick Louis alive for two consecutive concerts, though Harry is starting to think whatever he has is definitely not the same.

Something tugs in Harry's chest at the thought of Louis feeling this bad, so he selflessly hopes it's something different.

With a white knuckled grip on the counter, Harry hoists himself into a more natural position, swallowing hard.

He has every intention of calling out for Liam. When he opens his mouth, though, a surge of new pain shoots from his abdomen to his pulsing head, and a different name flies desperately past his lips.

* * *

The general chaos of the tour bus turns to uncomfortable silence in an instant. Niall and Liam must have heard what Louis did.

His throat goes tight at the way his name sounds in Harry's accent. It's like he's hearing it for the first time. Or like he's been hearing it all his life. Either way, it's horrible.

"Did he--" Louis knows he heard right.

"Go," Niall nods eagerly. Liam agrees with a bit more hesitance.

Louis sits frozen for a moment. Him and Harry are in a band together. They're _friends_. There's no reason to act so weird, so he drags himself off the couch and down the narrow hall between the bunks.

After pulling back the curtains and finding each bunk vacant, Louis' winds up standing before the bathroom door. He doesn't know what to say, so he just tries Harry's name.

"I didn't mean to call you."

The voice sounds small, like an empty shell of Harry is talking to him, and the harder Louis ponders this, the less he can remember what he ever sounded like before.

"Em, what?" Louis takes a step back. He heard Harry just fine, but he feels stupid now. _How do you make that kind of mistake?_

On the other side of the door, Harry almost apologizes.

"Can you get Liam?"

Louis doesn't answer, but Harry listens to his sock-softened footsteps get more and more distant, and then they're gone.

* * *

"You're okay, Harry. You're good— just get it all up. There you go..."

Harry wants to shove Liam off of him. His voice is too fast and his hands are too rough. He also has, like, _one_ soothing thing to say and he just keeps repeating it. It's not helping at all.

Everything he's doing is making Harry feels worse, he thinks bitterly with spit hanging from his chin. He wants to be alone.

Well, he doesn't want to be alone. But, he can't have what he wants, so he rather be alone.

"Think you're done, mate?" Liam asks once Harry spits, tearing a wad of toilet paper from its holder and using it to blow his nose.

"Mhm," he lies. He wants Liam out of this bathroom immediately. It's way too small for both of them.

Harry is about to tell Liam as such, too tired to be kind, when things somehow get worse.

"Uh, lads?" Niall. "What'cha doing?"

Liam groans. "What do you need, Ni?"

"Don't tell him," Harry whispers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and toying with the vague feeling that he's gonna be sick again.

"What? Why?"

"I don't—" He doesn't know, really. It's a waste, anyway, because Niall's still outside the door when he pukes.

"Liam? You okay?"

Big brown eyes look to Harry for permission and he can't say no when Liam has his hair pulled into a makeshift ponytail in his hand. So, he nods, hoping for some reason that Louis isn't around.

"That was Harry!" He shouts. Then, quieter, "You okay?"

"Oh. Sorry..." Niall sounds genuinely sympathetic. "Uh, Liam? What do we do about—"

Harry grunts. Not this. Not management. He pushes himself off his knees and makes a move to open the door, Liam releasing his hair and following skeptically.

"Nothing," Harry says, greeting Niall. "I'm fine. I'm doing the show."

He's gone before either of the other boys can think otherwise.

"Is that a good idea?"

"Nope," Liam sounds tired. "Never is."

* * *

Normally, Louis does a great job at not looking Harry's way, afraid he might look too fond or too sad. Afraid that he might excite fans or anger the team — or that he might stir up either of those emotions from Harry himself. He ignores the younger boy like a pro, and as far as Harry's concerned, looks hot as hell doing it.

Today, though, he's failing miserably, and it goes unnoticed by no one.

He can't help but stare when Harry's so obviously done for. Louis furiously wonders why nobody is doing anything for the poor boy, but he answers his own question as soon as he thinks it, recalling all the other times Harry or one of the other boys had been this dead on their feet.

One Direction doesn't get the luxury of sick days. It's just part of the package. Part of the lifestyle.

Louis usually reprimands himself for thoughts like these, where he seems ungrateful, but he just can't be bothered now. Between every rehearsed song, he fights the desire to approach Harry, honestly concerned he might fall right off the stage with his bambi-esque grace.

"Hey!" Louis shouts suddenly, voice foreign over the music. "Can we take 5? I'm still a little—"

He lifts his hand to his own forehead in a dramatic swoon, rolling his eyes and making dizzying movements with his hands. He waits no more than a few seconds before someone is granting him permission in his ear, seeing as he's already ruined the song.

Louis smiles superficially, skipping over to Liam and whispering, "What the fuck?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What's wrong with him?" He doesn't have to elaborate because Liam already knows exactly what he's talking about, which just makes Louis more upset.

"He's fine."

"Fine? Mate, he looks like the groom from the fucking _Corpse Bride_ —" Louis spares another glance Harry's way, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of Niall leading him backstage by the waist.

"Lou," Liam puts a hand on his shoulder and Louis urges himself to stop looking. "Let it go. He's okay, Niall's got him."

"Niall? Seriously?"

"What, Louis?" Liam's eyes are uncharacteristically cold, a telltale sign that their conversation is taking a turn for the worse. "What's the problem?"

Louis's face falls.

The question is a power move. A trap. It doesn't have an answer — not one Louis can bring himself to uncover, and certainly not one Liam wants to hear.

"I—"

" _You_ ," Liam mimics his tone. "need to be concerned about yourself. I'm not taking care of you again when you worry yourself right back to where you started, alright? You wanna act like Harry's friend now? When he's vulnerable? When you know he wants you?"

"That's not fair," Louis cringes when his voice cracks. "Am I not allowed to be worried about him? I'd be worried if it was you."

"I'm sure you would. Just— just leave Harry alone, okay? And chill with the hot and cold. He's struggling enough without the added pressure of having to decipher your mood swings."

Louis finds himself lacking a quick remark. Soon, he's alone on stage, mouth still hanging open like a fool.

* * *

Letting his emotions get the best of him in rehearsals is one thing; but, on stage, stolen glances are a punishable offense.

Not that that matters. Not when Louis already broke neck. Not when Harry can't catch his breath.

_"I'd give everything that I got for your love,"_

Harry turns on the last note, and despite all the effort Louis undergoes to prevent things like this, their eyes meet.

How they both look so in love when they're not anymore is beyond Louis, and some anxiety pulls at his gut because of it.

They speak silently. Whether Harry is nodding or just bobbing his head to the music, nobody would know. Nobody but Louis.

Harry doesn't try to sing the next line, and the transition between their voices is completely seamless.

 _"This time I'm ready to run,"_ Louis sings for him.

Liam doesn't miss the change, and interjects with a "Sing it!" Then, Harry takes over again.

And that's it. That's the moment.

One of weakness, surely. Niall could've taken the line. Or Harry could've skipped it; no one would've cared. Few would have even noticed.

But alas, old habits die hard.

Mentally, Louis adds 'protecting Harry' to the list of those he can't ever break, right under smoking cigarettes and well... hurting Harry.

They used to be so comfortably simple. Now, Louis and Harry are bound by tightrope and made of glass. It's utterly exhausting, this game they play, and hard as he tries, Louis _can't_ pretend not to love him today.

* * *

Everyone is surprised that Harry makes it to the end of the show, but nobody more then Harry.

He collapses onto the first semi-soft surface he finds, which, unfortunately, is all the way in his dressing room. The couch instantly molds under his weight.

"Oh, Harry."

Lou had been there, sitting at the large vanity mirror where hair and makeup products are still scattered, when Harry stumbled in. Now, she's crouching at his side, which he only knows by the sound of her voice. He refuses to open his eyes.

"You alright, babe?"

"Mmhmph,"

"You're on fire!" _How does she know that?_ "I'm gonna get someone, okay, H? Stay here!"

The silence is welcoming when she leaves. Harry bathes in it as he struggles to get a hold of himself. He's so jaded that he doesn't know if he even has the energy to be sick anymore.

He sure is pushing it, though.

At some point, Harry wakes up with little recollection of falling asleep. The couch feels comfier, so he smiles against his pillow, turning to rub his nose in it and yelping when he's met with denim. His pillow is not a pillow at all.

"Shh, Harry."

Harry whimpers without meaning to. He needs to get up. _Which way is up, again?_

"Gonna throw up," he says, and then he does.

He's in the bathroom when it happens, somehow, two jean-clad thighs on either side of his body. There's a ghost of a hand on his back, a feeling that's so close to soothing it hurts.

Harry's hair spills past his ears and that's how he knows the person behind him isn't Liam.

There's no chance.

"Louis?"

"Hey," Louis says, and something about his tone tells Harry it's not for the first time. He's been trying to get his attention for a while. "Let me see your wrist."

Harry yelps when Louis tries, pulling back with what he thinks are the reflexes of a snake. It's actually very slow, and painful to watch, but Louis respects his boundaries.

"Sorry, I—"

"Y-You can't," Harry croaks, cradling both arms to his chest now. "Don't— You can't, You can't touch me. What if people see?"

"Erm, Harry, we're alone right now."

Surprisingly, Harry doesn't need to hear any more. He raises his hand, then switches it when Louis chuckles and says, "Other one."

He's super confused, until Louis pulls the thin black band off Harry's arm and twirls in between his own fingers.

"Oh," The tail end of the realization falls into an accidental moan when Louis cards his fingers through Harry's hair, nails grazing his scalp.

By the time Louis makes a semi-successful bun, the damage is done. It's filthy and now so are Louis's hands. Harry grins at the cool air on his neck, though, so that's something.

"Done so soon?" Louis jokes.

"I— uh," Harry searches for something funny to say, the notion that he needs to impress Louis evident somewhere in his delirium. "Yeah."

"Okay."

And that's it. That's the moment.

But it doesn't have to be.

"Louis?"

"Mmhm?"

"Thanks."

"Oh, that's alright."

"Not for this. Well, yes for this, but—" Harry lifts his head from the toilet seat, like what he's about to say is important. "Thanks for looking at me tonight. On stage."

Louis doesn't say anything, a pensiveness to his expression that Harry can't see.

"Missed your eyes."


	2. arms unfolding, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> H and L aren't on the best of terms. They haven't been for a while; but, Harry gets sick on tour and longs for old comforts.
> 
> "I guess it isn't quite the end." / "Old partner in crime, I am going to try to fall in love with you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, this got away from me (hardly even a sickfic i'm sorry)

"Louis, wake up."

He obliges, somewhat. For the first couple of minutes, his eyelids are too heavy, and as soon as they're bring pried open they're shutting again. Eventually, a tug at his jumper sleeves gives him the extra push he needs to prop himself up on his elbows, squinting in the dark.

Louis groans. "What is it?"

"Can we talk?"

Awake enough now to register the voice, Louis allows himself to feel startled. "Harry! What—?"

Shortly after Harry's earlier confession, he'd fallen limp in Louis's arms. Louis, who is _not proud of this,_ took the opportunity to hand his sick bandmate off to Paul and get as far away from the situation as possible. He needed to, for both of their sakes. He was not running away, no, just taking Liam's advice.

"You should be resting," Louis says dumbly once the shock subsides.

"I can't sleep."

Without permission, Harry sits on the edge of Louis's bunk. The older boy curls in on himself beneath the blanket to lessen the possibility of them accidentally touching. Thoughtfully, Harry asks:

"Don't _I_ ever keep _you_ up at night?"

"What?" Louis yelps incredulously, trying to still his frantic heart.

"When I close my eyes," There's a boldness beneath Harry's words that makes Louis quiver. "I think of you."

"Harry," Louis doesn't dare touch him. He just knows the next part is true. "You have a fever. Please don't say something you're going to regret when it's gone."

He's sitting up now and watching Harry's back. Comforted by the fact that Harry can't see him, Louis analyzes his posture with tired, loving eyes.

"I'm not."

"What can I do for you, H?" Louis tries a nickname. A friendly one, as he rubs Harry's shoulder and tries to change the subject. "Medicine? A glass of water? What do you need?"

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Harry stands then, turning to face Louis like he's deeply offended by the question. He's blushing deep pink, but so is Louis.

"You know what I need—"

"Harry, stop,"

Louis swings his legs over the edge of his bed, hoping they don't wake anyone.

"No," Harry growls petulantly. "You never put on as good of a show as you think you do, you know."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I know it hurts you, too. The way we dance around each other," Louis swears Harry's eyes are _glowing_ with rage, glossed over too. "When did this become who we are?"

This can't be real. Louis must be dreaming because there is absolutely no chance Harry is talking to him like this, _about_ this.

If it's not a dream, Louis is royally fucked.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Bullshit, Louis!"

Without thinking, Louis rises to his feet, clamping his hand over Harry's mouth. He stares at the 28 that resides there and tries his hand at internal damage control.

The panic in Louis's eyes melts away in a sea of green, but he doesn't budge, keeping Harry silent and keeping them close.

"What do you want me to say?" he whispers.

"That you're sorry," Harry mumbles against his palm, surprising Louis so bad that he drops his hand altogether. Maybe that was the plan, because now Harry's holding both Louis's arms at his sides.

"Surely, I've said that I am."

"I don't think you have."

"What difference would it make?"

Harry sighs, releasing his grip. Louis used to be able to read him like an open book; but now, he can't tell if he's angry or disappointed or something worse.

"Did you wake me up just to demand that I apologize to you?" he adds. "Is that what you want me to do? Is that what you need to _cure what ails you_?"

Louis's voice is laced with sarcasm and venom. Harry isn't really doing anything to elicit such fury from him, he realizes, but no other emotion feels safe to express.

"I woke you up to tell you that I feel like shit and I miss you. That _I'm_ sorry," Harry doesn't try to hide his annoyance at the soft gasp Louis emits. "That I'm tired of hurting, and hurting you. Not that this lovely conversation went according to plan."

Louis's face softens, guilt flooding him immediately. Harry's ill, and sad, and not only can Louis not do anything about it, but it's all his fault. He thinks about Harry laying awake running the words through his head so he wouldn't mess up, and by the time he shakes the thought, there's a headache blooming behind his eyes. 

"I never got my lines," He jokes, lamely.

Harry is playing with his fingers and shifting his weight between his legs. He's crashing, getting insecure now as whatever fever-fueled adrenaline got him to this point starts to dissipate. They're still standing in the hall between the bunks, so Louis takes Harry's hand and urges him as far away from Liam and Niall as they can manage.

"What are you apologizing for?" Louis inquires, knowing very well that if it were up to Harry, they'd still be together. It's something he thinks about often. When he gets no answer, he scoffs, upset again. "You don't even know, so why did you say it?"

"We're just... We're so— fucked. And I feel like all we can do is say we're sorry at this point, right? We can't go on the way we have been, Lou, so something's gotta give."

Louis screws his eyes shut, wishing more than anything that they could get off this bus.

"Look, Harry," Louis notices halfway through his sentence that he's still holding his hand. "I _am_ sorry. We were so young and so wonderful once, and— and what I'll apologize for is how quickly that was taken away. That's not my fault, or yours, but I'll say I'm sorry because it's the type of thing people say 'sorry' for without having any real reason to."

Louis pauses to take a deep breath, and he stumbles over his words a bit as he continues.

"But that's not what you want. You want me to say I'm sorry that I gave up on you, and I can't."

The tension is nearly tangible, but Louis can't stop now that he's started.

"This—" he motions clumsily around the tour bus. "is bigger than us. I loved you, and you loved this, and we couldn't have both."

Obviously, Louis loves _this_ too. One Direction is the best thing that could have ever happened to him, and as a grim as things seem now, both him and Harry are living out their dreams. Yet, when Louis thinks about it hard enough, he imagines he could've left it all behind for Harry at 18, if things were black and white.

Harry would've too. That's how naive and in love they were. But, even then, Louis knew that Harry Styles was born to be a shining star. A brightness for the world, not just Louis. They said he couldn't be both.

"I _love_ you," Harry interjects, finally. "Now. I love you _now_. It hasn't dwindled for a moment, not in 4 years. And I know you love me too, so cut the past tense crap, look me in the eyes, and explain why you want to keep hurting."

It's the fastest Louis has ever heard Harry speak, and he doesn't realize he's crying until Harry sniffles. Harry's just sick though. It's Louis who is completely collapsing in on himself. His vision of Harry goes bubbly and distorted as he blinks the tears back.

"Louis?" Instant regret. "Louis, I'm sorry."

"I know that I made the right choice. Don't— Don't make me have to make it again, b-because—"

"Lou, hey."

Harry _wanted this_ , and now he's trying to stop him from saying it?

"I can't do it again. I can't. I'm too tired to—"

"Hey," Harry's arms are around Louis. There's a hand on the nape of his neck and one around his side and Harry's squeezing, arms warm. Louis makes an "mmph," sound against his chest but is otherwise silenced.

And that's it.

* * *

Harry pretends not to notice the way Louis's hand shakes as he hands him the fever reducers. He takes them with a grateful smile, perched on the counter of the mobile kitchen.

Just like that, they're walking on eggshells again.

"Louis?"

"Mmhm?"

Harry can tell that Louis is finished with this conversation, shutting himself down the way he does when they accidentally share a joke in an interview or slip-up on old nicknames. The difference tonight is that Harry isn't having it. They've broken through, he thinks, and he's not going back. 

"I don't blame you for the choice you made."

Louis looks up at him with wet lashes and Harry can't help but let his train of thought wander as he watches him blink.

"I mean, sometimes I do," he collects himself slowly. "Or I did. I had to take it out on you. That's what people do in a breakup, right? I had to blame you or I'd probably explode... Deep down, though, I always knew what you did was brave. I don't think I could have done it."

Louis must know this. Simon must have known it, too, or he wouldn't have put it all on Louis in the first place. There's a deep, probably permanent hatred for himself that lingers deep in Harry's chest because he couldn't have made the choice. 

"Brave?" Louis questions. He's purposefully distracted, stuffing the pill bottle in the cabinet and lingering to read useless labels.

"Yeah," Harry hops down and reaches over Louis to conceal the medicine. He doesn't elaborate and Louis doesn't ask him to.

Turning around, Louis exhales sharply and runs a hand over his face, looking borderline asleep where he stands.

"Stay with me for a bit longer," Harry pleads.

"Okay," he rubs his eyes. "I'm here."

"I never stopped thinking that we'd work it out, you know."

"I know."

"I still haven't."

Awkwardly, Louis wraps his arms around himself like he's looking for comfort. "I know."

Immediately, Harry extends a hand, but he quickly pulls back, seeing as he doesn't want to overstep any more than he already has before he finishes saying what he needs to. "Why do you carry it alone?"

"What?"

"The weight of us. You always take the blows from management, you let them... You let them torture you, and—"

"I'm powerless, Harry. I know what I signed."

"But you're not alone." This time, Harry does chance a light shoulder rub, trying not to fret over the tension there. "I'm not sixteen anymore. You don't have to protect me..."

"Well, I can't just _not..."_ Louis trails off, looking caught.

"I love you," Harry tells him again. It doesn't matter that Louis hasn't said it. "I want to love you loudly. But I would gladly take loving you in secret over what we're doing now. No reprucussion could ever make it less worth it for me."

"Harry..." Louis warns. "I can't put up this defense forever. It's easier for us to be friends."

"I don't think we've been friends for a long time."

Louis falters a bit at that, and Harry knows it's because it's true. Even if they were friends, they both know it's not easier at all.

"We were easy. You and I — best friends and boyfriends and just... _Hazza and Lou."_

"You think I don't know that?" There's a certain fragility there, in the tone of Louis's voice. 

"I think you want it back, like I do... more than anything. And, look, If I'm wrong, I promise I'll drop it."

Harry steps forward, bringing them so close that their chests are nearly touching, but he lets Louis take the lead, afraid he's said too much.

Harry blinks at the floor, the sudden realization that he's just laid himself out for Louis to dissect dizzying him a little. He may have just ruined anything.

After what seems like an eternity, Louis makes a move. Rough hands trail Harry's abdomen before Louis squeezes their bodies together. It's an odd hug — less like he's trying to pull Harry close and more like he's trying to push _himself_ closer. He inhales deeply when he's safely satisfied against Harry's torso.

_He's smelling him_ , Harry notices, with a gentle flutter of his stomach.

"I don't know."

"That's okay, too."

Silence passes in long seconds and minutes. Then, "Lou, can you just promise me one thing?"

"Maybe," Louis huffs into his shirt.

"When we wake up tomorrow, don't shut me out. If you need to ignore me when cameras are on, so be it. Or if I'm just too much too fast, that's fine, but just— just let me in. Tell me what you feel." Louis tenses in his grip. "We don't ever have to be who we were, okay? We don't even have to be friends, if you really don't want to... But, can we at least be, like, coworkers who sometimes joke around? Maybe sit next to each other once in a while?" He says the last part with a sad, breathy laugh.

There's a clarity now that Harry's voice has been lacking all day, the over-the-counter medicine clearly rooting for them.

"Please, Louis. Just a taste of your light is better than the darkness I've been living in lately."

It's a great loss for both of them when Louis finally pries himself from Harry's arms.

"That's quite poetic. It also sounds like more than one promise," Louis yawns into his fist. "But okay."

It's been so long since Harry has seen Louis smile at him genuinely, with the crinkles by his eyes. For a moment, he thinks he might pass out.

"I think I can do that."

And that's it.

That's the moment.

The one that rekindles their treacherous love. As two bodies and minds of one beating heart, soulmates, friends, and maybe, one day, something like what they used to be. Maybe, one day, something greater than they ever were.


	3. a feeling that you can't fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a very stressed Louis takes care of a very sick Harry, and vice versa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic Attack

Harry's half-digested lunch crashes against his teeth. He whimpers into the palm of his hand, mustering any ounce of remaining willpower to force the thick liquid back down his throat. He blinks at the toilet water with glassy, unfocused eyes, suddenly feeling rather panicked.

"H," Louis warns. He reaches an arm out to rub Harry's back, but the younger boy shakes his head in dizzying protest. "Babe—"

Harry winces. The taste of bile on his tongue isn't doing much for the violent nausea beating on his abdomen, and he pushes Louis away in fear of overheating. He wants to explain, but can only muster a low, childish whine.

"Okay," Louis says, though he couldn't possibly have understood.

Harry gags involuntarily. He presses both hands tighter to his face, making a bright red outline on his skin from the pressure. Fortunately, this time, the threat of vomit only makes it halfway up his throat before retreating to its natural position. Harry exhales against his pursed lips, finding it hard to breathe.

"Don't fight it, darling."

Just the thought of what Louis' implying makes Harry's blood go cold. Goosebumps rise threateningly on his neck and arms.

He won't be sick, he decides, hesitantly lowering his shaking hands.

"M'fine,"

Louis flashes him an look of icy blue disbelief. For a moment, Harry's a little upset that he won't just believe him.

"It passed," he shrugs. "'wanna lay down."

Harry starts to make his way up, but as soon as he's standing, he's hitting the wall. Louis winces at the impact to his side, rising to Harry's level and pressing both hands to his chest to keep him from falling forward.

"Woah, woah, hey—" Louis scans his face. "If you're sure, then okay, but let me help you, yeah?"

Louis breaks eye contact, glancing down at the half-empty bin beside the toilet. He's trying to calculate if he can carry it and Harry's dead weight to the bedroom at the same time, because he isn't sure he'll have time for two trips before Harry's redecorating the walls, when...

"Lou—"

Without warning, Harry does just that. It's the definition of projectile vomit. Without so much as a gag of warning, Harry's spraying a mouthful of regurgitated Pepto Bismal out of his mouth like a fountain.

The pink liquid catches Louis' shoulder despite his attempt at dodging it, the rest splattering across the closed bathroom door.

"Sh-Shit!" Louis yelps, suddenly overcome by the warmth seeping through his shirt sleeve.

Harry's eyes go wild. His hand is halfway to his mouth to cover himself when a second wave of sick pours silently past his lips, coating his fingers and the floor beneath them.

Louis watches, frozen and a little off-balance himself, as the puddle grows at Harry's sock clad feet. He snaps out of his trance at the sound of a choked sob, and manages to get Harry to face the sink in time for him to puke again.

It doesn't help much. An inhumane gurgle erupts from Harry, and his cheeks puff out in a struggle to minimize anymore mess. He tries to cage his mouth again, but the smell of his hands make him gag. His lips pry open to reveal a thick, seemingly endless stream of watery puke that splashes onto the sink handle and surrounding counter.

"Fuck, Harry," Louis' voice trembles as he contemplates what to do. Moving him back to the toilet would be ideal, but he's already made such a mess that he isn't sure if jostling his stomach any further is worth it.

Surprisingly, Louis is spared. Harry doesn't puke again. He just cries. "I'm s-so so-sorry!"

Louis shakes his head, trying to find a way to touch him without worsening the mess.

"I'm not mad," he says gently. "Are you okay?"

Harry shakes his head, 'no,' and rushes toward Louis in a few clumsy steps. He's taken aback, but opens his arms nonetheless, welcoming Harry and his puke-coated t-shirt into his chest as he cries. Harry crouches down to nestle his head into Louis' neck, despite their natural height difference. Louis has always found it endearing; but tonight it just makes him worry.

"None of that," Louis wraps one arm around Harry's waist, the other cupping the back of his head. He breathes through his mouth. "None of that cryin',"

"Louis," Harry hiccups. "...hurts so bad."

Louis carefully removes Harry from his embrace, pushing him just far enough away that he can see into his eyes.

"I know, H," Louis looks around, resisting the urge to twist his face at the sick everywhere. "We gotta get out of here. Think you're done?"

"F-for now," Harry decides, and there's a little color making its way back to his cheeks, so Louis decides to believe him. "I think."

"Arms up, then," he orders. Harry obliges shakily, and Louis pulls his t-shirt up over his head.

Louis swallows hard, looking at Harry's socks.

"S-Sit."

Harry closes the lid of toilet, collapsing onto it as soon as he's able. Louis squats before him, slipping a finger through the ankle of his socks to pull them off. He leaves them on the floor with the rest of Harry's clothes, grateful he somehow missed his shorts.

Louis isn't quick to stand. Instead, he presses his face into Harry's thigh, breathing deeply. Harry cocks his head guiltily. "Lou?"

"Mm,"

"You okay?"

 _It fucking smells_ , Louis thinks but doesn't say. Instead, he nods against Harry's skin, giving himself a minute to relax. He's never been easily bothered by this stuff, but Harry's made a proper mess this time.

When Louis finally makes a move to continue his mission, it starts with removing his own shirt, quickly and clumsily in a hurry to get it over his head.

Once he's mostly clean, he turns his attention back to Harry. He's mostly unresponsive, eyes fluttering shut only to snap open in alarm a few seconds later. Louis cups his jaw with one hand, brushing his cheek and forehead with the other. Harry's stomach rumbles audibly, and he pushes him away.

Louis wastes no time grabbing the somehow-unscathed bin and shoving it into Harry's lap. The sick boy wraps his arms around the plastic, but doesn't use it.

Louis's visually squirming now, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable as he stands helpless. He takes his bottom lip in between his teeth and nibbles nervously.

"M'good," Harry mumbles after a beat.

"Want the bed?"

Harry nods.

On the way there, Louis' mind races with all the things he'll need to do and clean once he gets Harry to settle down. Hopefully he doesn't fight Louis on it; Harry tends to get rather clingy after being sick. Not that Louis' blames him, he's just really dreading the aftermath and wants to get it over with as soon as possible.

By the time Louis gets Harry somewhat comfortable, he's puking into the rubbish container, the sound of his retches echoing against its insides.

Harry throws up for what feels like forever, and Louis is there the whole time, making him feel okay. Once his heaves finally turn dry, the bed dips beside him, and he turns — with his head still over the bin — to see Louis sitting next to him. He's got one hand rubbing soothing circles on Harry's back and the other swiping across his own — sweaty? — face.

If it wasn't for the fact that Harry thought he'd hurl if he bent down to drop the bucket, he would've disposed of it himself. But he still feels rather sick, so he passes it to Louis with a guilty frown. "I'm really sorry, Lou."

"Don't be," he says quietly, taking it from Harry's unsteady grip.

Harry rubs his tired eyes, offering a worried glance to where his boyfriend is sitting, motionless. Isn't _Louis_ supposed to be the one looking at _him_ like this right now?

Harry watches his chest. He's taking deep, labored breaths, like he's thinking hard about each one, eyes focused on the floor.

"Louis, are—"

Louis drops the bin. Harry watches in slow motion as it swirls, dangerously close to spilling over. He's worried it might fall, so against his prior judgement, he hops off the bed to steady it.

Once disaster is safely avoided, he pushes it to the side and stands, positioning himself dizzyingly between Louis' legs, who hardly reacts to the whole thing.

"Oops," Louis says with a blank stare.

"Baby?" Harry rasps. He rubs his throat and scoots closer, dropping himself into Louis' lap and reaching for his hand.

Louis lets him take it, but doesn't reciprocate much affection.

"Are you sure you're not mad?" he asks quietly. "You were right in the bathroom, I should've just—"

"Haz," Louis interrupts, looking at him finally. He doesn't really look mad, but his eyes lack that everything's-gonna-be-okay look he usually comforts Harry with. "I need you to g-get up."

Harry does as he's told, pressing a hand to his stomach to keep everything in place as he distances himself. Louis' probably so disgusted with him.

He's confused when Louis doesn't move. His chest is still heaving, Harry notices, and he doesn't miss the dots of blood when Louis finally releases his lip.

"Oh?"

"Sorry, I just—" Louis stands up. He looks at a Harry weirdly, then switches glances to the ceiling, running his hands over his face again. "I don't know,"

Harry watches the scene unfold, dumbfounded. The longer he watches Louis, the less sick he feels, and the more concerned. He lets out a grunt of surprise when he hears Louis' high-pitched cry from behind his hands.

"Harry," Louis gasps. "Harry."

Harry falls into the role reversal easily, taking each of Louis hands and squeezing them tight, moving them to reveal Louis' red-rimmed eyes.

"What's going on!?" he pleads. Louis looks frantic. "Lou?"

Louis eyes search Harry's face desperately, like he's expecting him to answer his own question. When that doesn't happen, Louis just wraps an arm around Harry's upper back, the other falling at his torso. Harry melts into the hug, sliding his arms right into place.

"Fuck," Louis says a few times.

Harry's grateful to every and any god he can think of that his sick feeling from earlier has subsided long enough for him to hold Louis like this. He's not entirely sure what's going on, but he knows he needs to be here, doing this.

After a few minutes of silent crying, Louis makes a weird sound. A whimper, almost, or more of a squeak, and his knees buckle. He falls through Harry's grip.

Soon enough, both boys are on the floor. Louis is up against the bed, his knees coming slowly to his chest, and Harry follows sluggishly, resting a hand on his leg just to be there.

"Louis?!"

"I—" Louis splutters. "Harry, I— H-Haz,"

"You're fucking scaring me, baby,"

Without warning, Louis starts hitting his chest, clawing at the bare skin and emitting low, crackling whines. Before Harry can stop him, there's pink scratch marks everywhere.

"What are you-- Hey! Hey, woah!" Harry gasps, taking both Louis' hands in one of his and holding them far away from his body. Louis kicks and groans, longing for the grounding feeling of his nails against his skin. Harry's never seen him like this before.

With his free hand, Harry puts gentle pressure where Louis' heart is, careful not to hurt him.

"Push," he orders, urging Louis to direct his sudden physical anger to Harry's hand, on his chest. "Push my hand."

Louis wiggles his hands in Harry's grip, but he doesn't budge. He taps his fingers along Louis' chest again, softly.

"You gotta breathe heavy, yeah? Push my hand up, like this..." he takes a breath, and tries not to cough.

Louis makes a noise of distress. "I ca-an't,"

"You can, I promise."

Louis tries, but it's a pathetic attempt at an exhale and he doesn't take in any air. Harry curses. He considers running for his inhaler and forcing the air into Louis lungs himself, but Louis doesn't have asthma, and that can't be safe, right?

"M' gonna d-die," Louis whispers through blue lips. Harry pales.

He's quick to recover, though, turning Louis to the side so he can pull him close without the boundary of his legs. Louis' hands fall limp when Harry lets them go in favor of cupping his love's flushed face.

"Louis fucking Tomlinson," Harry tries. "I would never, ever, let you die. Okay? But you have to breathe, yeah, love? I know it's hard, but you can do it. I know you can."

Louis opens his mouth but doesn't say a thing. He's crying, and Harry's crying, and it's all a big mess.

He tries a breath again, and it still isn't great, but it's better than a minute ago, and it seems to calm him just a little.

"There you go, Lou, you're doing so good..."

It takes a full 3 minutes and a ton of sweet-nothings, but soon, Louis is doing alright. Him and Harry are so close they're practically one, still laying on the bedroom floor in grateful silence. Louis' stomach is rising and falling against Harry's, in time with his small, shaky breaths.

"I'm sorry, baby," Harry says, and repeats it until Louis feels okay enough to cut him off.

"Haz?"

Harry offers a bright smile, wiping Louis' tears and hair from his face. "Yeah?"

"I don't know why I— uh, did that"

Harry frowns. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, he's feeling the repercussions of his illness. His muscles are achy and sore, and there's a vague pain pulsing somewhere in his tummy. Louis feels like a million pounds curled up in his lap, but Harry still holds him like he's the only important thing in the world. And he is. 

"That's okay," he hums. "Sometimes, this stuff just happens without reason, though I'd say all the hell I put you through today was plenty..." Harry gets slow towards the end. Sad.

"Wasn't your fault."

"Yours either." Louis looks up at him through teary eyes. "I would never blame you for this, understand? Never."

Louis shivers. It's only then that Harry remembers they're both shirtless, and probably drenched in sweat.

"Think either of us will survive a few minutes in the shower?"

"Not really, no."

Harry kisses Louis' lips softly and quickly, careful not to linger too long with sick still on his breath. "Sleep then?"

Louis nods, but makes no effort to move to the bed. He only cuddles closer to Harry, who's warm with the remains of a fever and the deep blush of love.


	4. baby, kiss it better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> louis and harry deal with the repercussions of a bad football accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why this one is in past tense lol

"Sixty _thousand_ people," Louis groaned, burying his face deep in Harry's chest. "For Fuck's Sake."

Harry just listened, rubbing Louis' shoulders as he complained. They were cuddling on the couch, with Louis sprawled out between Harry's legs. One leg of the sweatpants Louis was wearing was bundled up around his thigh so that his injured knee was exposed, the other dragging way too long. The sweatpants were Harry's, accidentally.

"And if that's not enough, the stupid paps managed to get every bloody angle."

"It'll blow over," Harry promised, chewing on his lip. "Most of the people talking about it are just worried about you, anyway. _I'm_ worried about you, too..."

"I'm fine," Louis huffed. "Mortified, but fine."

Louis didn't really look fine. He was freshly changed, but unshowered, and he still looked a little grey in the face. Not nearly as bad as in the pictures Harry had seen, but he was definitely in more pain than he was letting on. Harry just sighed, pressing the bag of ice gently to Louis' skin and apologizing when he flinched.

"S' just cold," Louis explained. He wanted to curl onto his side and fall asleep, but that position was kind of impossible. Instead, he just let Harry coddle him, inhaling deeply in hopes that the smell of his boyfriend would calm him some.

Instead of the clean, floral perfection that usually radiated off Harry, all Louis got a whiff of was his disgusting self, and all his shame.

"I smell like sick," he whined.

Harry hummed, pressing his nose to the top of Louis' head and breathing in. Louis winced, embarrassment flaming in his cheeks.

"No, you don't," Harry assured. "A bit like cigarettes... and sweat... but not sick."

"Lovely," Louis rolled his eyes. His tone was reading straight aggression, but the way he was playing with Harry's fingers as he spoke just made him seem small. "I wanna shower."

"How do you suppose we manage that, love?"

Louis could honestly cry. He was so mad at himself for getting hurt. So frustrated that he couldn't make it off the field before the vomit came shooting up his throat and onto his hands and the grass. A second earlier and he would've had a few puke-covered teammates to apologize to. He shivered at the thought. So fucking _embarrassing_.

But here Harry was, being so sweet like always. Louis didn't deserve it. He just wanted to rinse any remains of today's events away and avoid the lingering humiliation with blissful sleep. Neither of those things seemed attainable, though.

"I could carry you," Harry said, like an angel. "And you could take a bath? It's not the same, I know, but it's something. Might relax your muscles."

Harry kissed his shoulder, and Louis tried not to moan. He was exhausted.

The pain Louis felt when the tackle happened was so excruciating that he was sure he would remember it for the rest of his life, but it had since dwindled down to an annoying throbbing. So, he was a bit caught off guard by how much it _hurt_ when Harry picked him up.

He clenched his teeth, hard, and took the soft fabric of Harry's shirt in a fist to keep from screaming. A strangled groan came out anyway. Harry's arms tensed around his back and beneath his knees.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," Harry wanted to go back in time to before he decided to do this. He couldn't really put Louis down now. "What do I do?"

Louis couldn't help but whimper. He was so pathetic. He opened his mouth to tell Harry to just shut up and book it to the bathroom, but all that came out was an involuntary choking sound.

Harry seemed to put the pieces together. After what felt like hours of eyes screwed shut and _pain_ , _pain_ , _pain_ , Louis was being lowered onto the closed toilet seat.

"...'kay?" Harry's voice began to come back into focus. _When had Louis stopped hearing it?_ "Louis?"

"Sorry?" he managed.

Louis watched Harry's face move as he talked. He didn't think the skin on Harry's worried forehead had uncreased since he got home from the game. His gut twisted with guilt.

"I asked if you were okay, but I'm starting to think you're definitely not..."

"I am!" he shouted, surprising them both. Harry was crouching in front of him, his head tilted the way dogs do when they're confused. Louis noticed, suddenly, that one of Harry's large hands was snaked under his thigh, keeping his leg elevated. "Sorry..."

Harry kissed his cheek, motioning to the bathtub with his free hand. "Still wanna give this a try?"

_Yeah_ , Louis thought. _Or else that nightmare was for nothing._ He nodded, feeling a bit lightheaded.

He only winced _slightly_ when Harry slid his pants off. His boxers were worse, but he didn't let it show.

"Lift," Harry instructed, before pulling the dark green sweatshirt up over Louis' head. He shivered at the sudden cold, but Harry was there in an instant, rubbing up and down his arms.

"I dunno how else to do this, Lou..." Harry looked to Louis sadly, then to the bath, then back to Louis.

"I can do it," Louis mumbled, using Harry's shoulders to steady himself as he rose on his good leg. Even that one was sore, though, and he shook a little. He was about to try a hop when Harry stopped him.

"What if you slip?"

"I won't slip, Harry."

Louis argument was futile. He was already way too tired, and he collapsed, exasperated, against Harry again.

"Just carry me," he said, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it. "S'okay."

"I'll be gentle."

And he was. But that didn't make it any less terrible. Once he was against the porcelain, his head lolled back with exhaustion. He let out a quiet cry when it hit the wall.

"Louis!"

He blinked a few times, and he wasn't sure if he was really swaying or it just _felt_ like the room was spinning. He let Harry, who was kneeling beside the bath, cradle his head, unable to stop the hot, silent tears.

If Harry noticed, he didn't say. Eventually, he rolled up a towel to put behind Louis' neck so he could lean safely against the wall while Harry scrubbed at his limbs and put shampoo in his hair. While he was rinsing the soap from his legs, the older boy let out a sudden noise of protest.

"What's wrong?!"

Louis didn't know how to answer. The heat from the bath was washing over him in waves. It felt a bit like whatever residual energy he might have had was physically draining from his head to his toes. He was trying his best to tough it out until he was dry, but he _really_ didn't want a repeat performance. Here. In the bath. With Harry.

"I don't feel very well," he rushed out, suddenly desperate.

He tried, truly, as hard as he could, to keep his stomach contents inside, but he couldn't put up the same fight he did earlier, and even then...

Louis tossed his upper body over the edge of the bathtub clumsily, a pale stream of bile pouring past his lips. He looked at Harry in surprise when it hit the bottom of a bin, and not the floor, or _Harry_. When had he put that there?

Harry made a noise of sympathy when Louis heaved and nothing came up. He was empty quick, but he still felt awful.

"Can I move this?"

Louis nodded slowly and Harry pushed the rubbish away, dragging himself on his knees to cup Louis' face in his hands. He kissed his forehead, running a hand through his wet hair.

It was a bit of a mission to get Louis out of the bathtub again, then dry, but Louis declined Harry's offer to take a breather. He just wanted to be in bed.

"You've had a rough day," Harry said dumbly, once they were snuggled together under the covers. Louis' leg was poking out from the side of them, with one of Harry's pillows under his knee. Being so oddly exposed was making him cold, but Harry was warm and very close. "I'm so proud of you."

Now blissfully delirious after a new dose of pain medication, Louis couldn't help the goofy smile that spread across his cheeks. The meds couldn't take away his embarrassment, but they did help him take his mind off the ache, and focus on the love. He could physically feel it, between their bodies, an immense amount of _love_ , _love_ , _love_.

He wanted to swallow it.

Harry giggled then, and Louis' head bounced where Harry's stomach was shaking with laughter. _Had he said something funny?_

"I love you," was the only answer he received from Harry, and it was enough.

Louis wanted to say it back, but he wasn't sure if he did or not before he was drifting off to sleep.

"I love you," Harry said, again. He kissed Louis' nose, and it was enough.


End file.
